


The Anthropological Need for Matching Christmas Pyjamas

by meditationsinemergencies



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2020, Matching Pyjamas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:47:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28217964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/pseuds/meditationsinemergencies
Summary: Hermione and Remus suddenly find themselves in the same Christmas pyjamas.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Remus Lupin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 28
Collections: Hermione's Holiday Hideaway 2020





	The Anthropological Need for Matching Christmas Pyjamas

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Hermione's Haven Holiday Hideaway 2020. 
> 
> Pairing: Remus Lupin/Hermione Granger  
> Location: Bangkok, Thailand  
> Tradition: Christmas Eve pyjamas
> 
> Many thanks to adavison for her quick beta work. You're the best of the best.

“Why in the world are we now wearing pyjamas? Better yet, why in the world are we wearing the same pyjamas, Remus? Not to mention, it’s hot, and these are thick flannel things. I’m sweating already!” Hermione Granger raised her hands in the air, gesturing towards the sun, which was now setting, and the beautiful sky—not a cloud in sight, no cool breeze, just warmth; Bangkok, Thailand was quite different in December than London, England, that was for sure. 

Hermione pushed up the sleeves of the pyjamas and huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. She looked down and examined what she was wearing: bright green pants with twinkling red and white candy canes and a matching button-up, long-sleeved top. The material was heavy, designed to keep you warm on those cold, wet nights in jolly ole’ England, and she could feel sweat building up, prickling her skin, in all the familiar uncomfortable places. 

Remus, the handsome bastard, slapped a hand over his mouth and stifled his laugh. She raised an eyebrow at him, examining him: He was wearing an identical pair of pyjamas. 

The pair had been out in the jungle, in the thick of it, searching for a plant they were probably never going to find. They had been searching for months now, working diligently on something to help in the side-effects of Remus’ monthly transitions. The work was painstaking, but Hermione enjoyed it. It involved a series of complex charmwork to uncover the plant—if they could ever find one to uncover. 

They’d been in Bangkok for a week now, searching the jungle’s floor from sunrise to sunset. The evenings were their’s to do as they please, but Hermione found that most of her free time was spent with him. Remus felt guilty that Hermione was working over the Christmas holidays, but she truly didn’t mind. After the war, she’d never been able to restore her parents’ memories, she and Ron had broken up, and, for the most part, she found herself to be alone. She would have spent the holidays working as it were; this way she at least got to be in a beautiful new country, and she got to admire Remus. 

Hermione had always had a soft spot for the man. He was handsome and humble; intelligent and idyllic—the scruff on his face, the greys in his dirty-blonde hair, his tired, but sweet, eyes, not to mention he was tall and broad, and once, his hand had grazed against her arm and she felt the calluses on his palms, noted the roughness of his touch, and she swooned a bit inside. She found that the conversation was never lacking with him. They could talk about so many things: literature, charm theories, wizarding laws, and so on. He had become her favourite person to talk to, as he challenged her and respected her thoughts.

Despite how she felt about Remus, she would never let him know. Hermione was absolutely certain that Remus did not and would not reciprocate those sorts of feelings.

As he laughed, the pair of them in their ridiculous Christmas pyjamas, she felt affection and irritation at him. He looked, not surprisingly, just as handsome in bright-green, and if he was sweating, which she knew he was, it would be sexy, unlike her when she sweat. She knew her hair was beginning to frizz despite her morning charm work, her forehead was probably beginning to glistening, the pits of her arms damp, her cleavage pooling with sweat. 

Again, she huffed at him, “What in the hell are you laughing at? What has happened?”

The laugh was still rolling through his shoulders as he spoke, “I think you activated…” He stopped to let out a slow breath, trying to slow his laughter. “Your charm work was off. I didn’t notice it immediately, but it was the way you flicked your wand twenty-six degrees to the right instead of twenty-seven degrees. You did an anthropological charm.” 

“And…”

“Well, it’s one that emphasizes...er...tribal bonding.”

She furrowed her brow, not completely certain on what she had done. Suddenly, she noted that his cheeks were a soft red, and, at first, she thought he was hot, but then realized that perhaps he was blushing. Her stomach did a small flip at the idea.

He cleared his throat, “What it does is, if you are around someone that you are connected to, that you’ve bonded with, then it will, in some way, show you.” 

He stepped towards her and he reached out, letting his fingers touch the collar of her pyjamas. “For you, it seems, you have an anthropological need for matching Christmas pyjamas. This is something that, in your heart, you long for, you crave.”

Her mouth felt parched. She tried to swallow, “Wh-..why...why are you in the pyjamas then? What’s that about?”

She watched as he licked his lips, and something below her stomach flipped this time. With a smile, he replied, “I think we both know what that’s about, Hermione.” 

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her with affection, and she remembered how he always seemed to look at her that way, with affection— in the evenings when they sat at the bar sharing a fishbowl drink, him listening to her confess to all the rules she broke in school, when they’d walk on the beach and watch the sun sink into the day as they debated over arithmancy methods and the merits of divination. That’s when it dawned on her, that he harboured the same feelings he did. 

“Hermione, if we were at home, I would love to be wearing matching pyjamas with you, but it’s far too hot in this jungle for such thick flannel,” his hand took hers and she tried not to swoon over the way her hand felt in his. 

“Tomorrow is Christmas. Why don’t we stop working? Go back to the hotel. Charm the room to be as cold as it would be at home and share a steaming mug of cocoa.”

“Merlin. Thinking of cocoa is making me sweat even more,” she laughed a little.

He hummed, “Mmmmm. I do like you sweaty. You smell wonderful.”

“Is that you or the wolf talking?” she quipped.

“Probably both.” His laugh was deep and lovely, and she was overwhelmed with how much she felt for him physically and emotionally. Closing the gap between them she pushed up on her toes, her fingers idly playing with the buttons on his pyjama top, and she kissed him. His lips met hers in return, and she melted into him like chocolate. 

“Or….” she retorted, “I could always just…” she flicked her wand and transfigured their clothes—they now wore swimsuits with the same god-awful pattern. She beamed at her work and said, “Let’s go for a swim.” 

Nodding he put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him, “Only if you promise that we can wear those pyjamas next Christmas when we’re home.” 

The words  _ next Christmas  _ rang in her ears as he kissed her again and again. 

  
  



End file.
